‘That’ Old Lady

I’ve spent too much time alone these past weeks, I’ve watched too much news and I am starting to take too many things far too seriously- my sense of humor has gone the way of freedom and fun.  The CoronaVirus is all anyone is talking about; the numbers, the death, the scramble for a vaccine; the virus has become the main character in a macabre play and it’s stealing the show.  

It’s springtime in my seaside community, the weather is decidedly perfect.  The  beach is still off limits thanks to the virus – the tall blue wire fence barricading it continues to discourage any fun that might be had at the water’s edge.  As always there are a few who refuse to be discouraged, some to which rules do not apply, and they are adding to a growing list of things that cause us rule-followers grief.

I am turning into “that” old lady – the one that mutters under her breath about kids today and tut-tuts about rules and respect and the lack thereof in the younger generation.  I’d like to hand out tickets to those who venture where they are forbidden to go.  On extremely cranky days I’d like to electrify that tall blue wire fence and zap trespassers in the same fashion livestock gets zapped when pushing their luck on a barnyard fence.  I try to keep these thoughts to myself but I’m certain they are written on my face – not only am I turning into “that” old lady I fear I’m starting to look like her.

The speed limit on Marine Drive is thirty kilometers per hour ( ‘30 clicks’). The beautiful weather brings with it muscle cars and testosterone and the pungent aroma of burnt rubber and exhaust.  On any given night the Drive is alive with rumbles and screeches and as much attitude as can be mustered at 30 clicks.  This year the muscle show seems all for naught – the femme fatale are few and far between – social distancing makes socializing far less interesting.  Usually it’s just a few of us old farts out for an evening saunter to appreciate the boys and their toys and we find them more annoying than impressive.  

I used to think, or at least hope, I would avoid some of the more common pitfalls of aging; strong opinions, cantankerous confidence and self righteous indignation; but it turns out I’ve fallen into every pit.  During my self isolation I have unwittingly honed the nastier qualities of every old bird I’ve ever met – I have turned into “that” old lady.  Apparently this is not a symptom of Covid19 but it is a definite side effect and as contagious as hell. Contagious as the virus itself.